


Safeguards

by jiokra



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Missing Scene, Thank God We're Alive Sex, sort of a missing scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-10
Updated: 2017-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-02 07:24:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10212476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jiokra/pseuds/jiokra
Summary: Before setting off to rescue Rey and destroy Starkiller Base, Finn and Poe convey their joy over reuniting and discovering they didn't die on Jakku by having sex in an empty office.





	

“So we disable the shields, take out the oscillator and we blow up their big gun,” said Poe. “All right. Let's go!”

The officers dispersed; analysts gathered in garrulous clusters around holographs, styluses waving at depictions of Starkiller. Snap slipped off for the hangar, and Poe tapped his fingers on the center table, brow set as he watched Snap’s back. The perilous mission ahead of them did not guarantee that he’d catch another glimpse of the pilot after they docked back to base on the return flight.

A hand clasped his forearm, grip loose. “Poe Dameron?”

The roughness in him bled out at the first sound of Finn’s stoic, harrowed voice. Poe turned to him, and those brown eyes which had seen too much made Poe’s chest ache. He fell against the table, though smoothly, a falsehood to the hairs prickling at his scalp and the thunder in his chest.

“Just Poe’s fine, pal,” said Poe, surprised at his softness.

Finn watched him gravelly. “Poe, I need to speak with you.”

Were it anyone else, Poe would have chuckled, gone and said, _Sure it’s urgent, buddy? There’s a war going on and all_ , but he couldn’t. Not to Finn—the Finn who saved his life, saved his droid, saved his jacket and the galaxy after wanting nothing more than to disappear into space. Occasionally on Jakku in the midst of muttering incessantly, delirious from dehydration, into his wrist comm a report for the Resistance to parse, he allowed himself to think of the trooper who stole him from an interrogation chamber and offered him sanctuary out of the kindness of his heart. When he had _truly_ allowed himself think of that trooper, he remembered how the trooper talked to himself, how every photon torpedo racing toward them was a bull’s eye hit by beginner’s luck, the unabashed joy when Poe gave him a name and he accepted it with absolute joy. Had anyone told Poe that he’d be naming a human being, a trooper easy on the eyes and looking damn good in his jacket would not be that person.

Finn squeezed his arm, gaze flickering. “Poe?”

 _Acknowledgment. Right. Have a hunch he might like that._ “There’s an office over there if it’s private,” he said, swinging his thumb toward the hallway, “and here if—”

Finn loosened his hold on Poe, catching Poe’s hand in his. Poe’s stomach tugged, silent as Finn dragged him across the command center. _Talks to himself. Saves the day. Likes holding hands. Takes charge. Fuck me._

Finn went not three paces into the hallway before halting, hand tensing. “I have no idea where the office is.”

Poe startled, a calm seeping through him. “You know that’s a good point.”

He raised their joined hands, Finn dipping his head to peer down at them. Finn’s fingers fidgeted, grip flexing. When he looked back up, those dark eyes bewildered and vulnerable, Poe smiled, smitten. Finn smiled softly back.

Biting his lip to stop himself from snickering, Poe tapped his chest with their joined hands, rapping Finn’s knuckles against the orange suit. “Follow me,” said Poe.

The office they slipped into was cramped, no more than a single desk, a closet with an ajar door revealing vacant hangers, and piles of physically written reports to be filed away and sent into scanners, immortalized in databases. Poe released Finn’s hand, palm burning as cool air hit clammy skin. Poe leaned against the closed door, eying Finn as he turned on his heel, chin up and examining the office. The Finalizer had amazed and terrified Poe when he first saw it, yet still he felt a compulsion, shocked primarily at the advancements a supposedly fringe organization had accomplished, to soak in every detail on the off chance he survived and could report the findings to the Resistance. He could only imagine how Finn felt seeing the Resistance up close, the reality of it.

But they were working on a time table, and Finn, regardless of his good heart, ate up precious, irreplaceable seconds. “You wanted to chat?” said Poe.

Finn nodded, then crept toward Poe, not stopping even after he bypassed the invisible lines surrounding them. He came close, tantalizingly close. Their noses were touching, the scent of Finn near, intoxicating, and though Finn felt no reservation in looking him clear in the eye, Poe couldn’t, averting his gaze down to his shoulder.

“I wanted to thank you,” said Finn.

“Thank me?” Poe smirked. “Thank me for what?”

“For being alive.”

Poe glanced at him. Finn’s intense stare with those dark eyes only reeled in Poe. His head fell back against the door, throat bobbing and the space beneath his abdomen twisting. Finn reached out and grasped his hand, took a step closer till their knees bumped.

When Poe collapsed on the family farm at Yavin 4 and rasped at his father for a glass of water before he fired up Black One’s engine, he had not anticipated for the day to progress like this. Absently, his thumb rubbed Finn’s knuckles. “Shouldn’t I be thanking you?”

“If you want.” Then he whispered gravelly, “Can I show how much I mean it?”

“Why not? Knock yourself out, pal.”

With his vacant hand, Finn held Poe’s cheek, shocking him into silence. His skin was enflamed beneath Finn’s hand, his body silenced and alert to that contact on his cheek, Finn’s hand holding his, his knees being knocked to the side as Finn moved into him, sliding his thigh against Poe’s cock which stirred to life at the contact. For a second Poe remembered the time table, but then Finn’s eyes were closing, his face coming closer, and his mouth smothered Poe’s. Then time tables became a figment of the past.

Finn pressed kisses against him, then Poe nipped, drawing his hand up Finn’s back, scratching harsh lines along the way, and Finn opened their mouths wide, Poe pliant and responsive beneath him. Poe massaged him with his tongue, and Finn got more forceful, slipping his hand off Poe’s cheek and snatching the hand off his back, grabbing both of Poe’s wrists. He broke the kiss, biting down on Poe’s bottom lip and pulling, only to stretch his arms over his head and plant them against the door. Poe arched into him, Finn’s firm thigh kneading against Poe’s steadily hardening cock.

Mind buzzing, Poe wondered if he ought to end this before he worried his ability to enforce sound decisions would become clouded by the pure, inexplicable desire for this man who he’d met days ago and only discovered was alive hours ago. But then Finn gripped his throat, palm pressing lightly against his windpipe and coaxing his head to the side, and Poe was putty beneath him, molding to every demand. Finn kissed him over his jugular vein, thigh kneading his cock, which started to ache with a need satiated only by fewer clothes.

Poe swallowed, choking a little beneath Finn’s hand, and his knees buckled. “This is an intense thank you.”

Finn’s brows were slanted, corners of his eyes crinkled. “Why—you mean—” Finn released his throat, stepping away and face shuddering behind an proverbial wall.

Poe snatched the collar of his black shirt, rooting him there. “Speak to me, pal.”

His throat worked, eyes a myriad of sentiments skittering across the surface and none of them welcoming. “I don’t know how else to show you—The First Order,” he said, “they prohibited us from displaying emotion by punishment of… so we tended to instead…” He sucked in his cheek, quieting.

The concept of people so repressed by the First Order that they resorted to sex instead of communicating their thoughts through speech bewildered and frightened Poe, providing him insights into Finn that he hadn’t anticipated to ponder.

Finn stared down at the hand gripping his shirt. His palm settled over the back of it. “I’m just really, _really_ glad you’re alive.”

“But, to be clear, you _want_ this, right?” Poe waggled a wrist between them. “Genuinely, I mean.”

“Ever since the TIE-fighter,” said Finn. “Is that weird?”

“Sounds legit to me. When you took down those turrets without knowing how to work the guns, I kind of wanted to kiss you.” Poe smiled. “Genuinely.”

Finn wrapped fingers around Poe’s wrist. His gaze hardened, mouth curling into a smirk. “You did?”

“I did.”

Finn tore his hand away from the shirt, pinning it on the door over his head. Poe ached for him to grab the other hand, anchor him between the door and Finn’s body. Finn stepped into him, pressed his thigh back against Poe’s cock, shoving his weight into him incrementally, kneading him.

Finn leaned in, lips against his ear. “What else did you want me to do?”

And Poe was once again putty, molding to Finn’s whim.

“Your, uh—” Poe swallowed, closing his eyes, then thought— _Screw it._ “Squeeze my throat till I gag, choke a bit.”

Finn dragged his nails along Poe’s side, hand coming up to Poe’s collarbones, and seized his throat, the curve along his forefinger and thumb pressing into the juncture of his jaw and neck. He squeezed, and instantly Poe’s eyes closed, breath catching for reasons unrelated and yet wholly intrinsic to the palm pinching his windpipe.

“Like this?” said Finn, hot in his ear.

Poe nodded, murmuring in affirmation.

Finn’s lips brushed his earlobes. “Sorry, didn’t catch that.”

“Y-yeah,” Poe rasped, coughing. “Like that.”

He kissed him, just below his ear, then released his hand. “Stay put.”

Poe’s fingers twitched, eyes lulling and locking on the ceiling.

Finn folded back the flap over his flight suit, slipping off the buttons, nails dragging as he worked southward. He sweetly kissed Poe’s cheeks, forehead, the tip of his nose. Poe ached to touch him, but wasn’t sure if that were permissible, yet his free hand twitched, impulse to touch unquenchable, and he pressed his hand behind him over the door, fingers curling into the metal. Finn released the final buttons, sliding a hand beneath the grey undershirt and tracing circles around his navel.

“You need to be quiet,” said Finn, mouth hovering over Poe’s. “Can you do that?”

Poe nodded, as much as he could with Finn’s hand over his throat rendering him acutely immobile.

Finn’s hand slipped under the waistband of Poe’s boxers, the wet tip of his cock bouncing out and bumping his hand. The second Finn grasped him, thumb pressing into the tip while a finger travelled around the contours framing the head, tracing along the frenulum, a deep, guttural groan ripped out of Poe, throat bobbing beneath Finn’s palm. Poe gagged, and another moan followed, which Finn stifled with his mouth. He shoved his tongue into Poe, and Poe met him with equal measure, mind bewildered at the conflicting sensations.

Finn backed away, mouth and hands with him. Poe sighed out a ragged breath and watched through half-closed eyes as Finn slipped off the jacket, draping it over the edge of the desk. Then he removed his shirt, exposing muscles that had Poe’s eyes widening. He felt silly at the surprise, since Finn was trained as a foot soldier, his body its own weapon. But even then, there was a cozy aspect to even the ridges along his abdominals, the curves of his pectorals, the strength in his biceps which flexed as Finn struggled to release his arm from an unruly sleeve. Finn did not possess the aesthetic which adorned those incessant advertisements plaguing airspeeder highways with light that drowned out the stars.

Poe groaned, mortified, as a long time had passed since he waxed poetic about muscles as being more than muscles. He forgot he could.

Finn approached him, shirt balled up in his hands. He gripped Poe’s jaw, opening up his mouth, and shoved in the shirt, thumb caressing his cheek. “You’re kind of loud, Poe,” he said.

Dropping to his knees, Finn slipped his cock out of the boxers, seizing his shaft and pressing kisses over his pelvis. Poe fought to keep his ass firmly against the door, a testament to his ability to follow direction as it’d not only been awhile since he waxed poetic about a man, but even longer since anyone had gotten close enough for breath to warm his cock. His mind raced, thoughts circling in on themselves.

Finn slapped his thigh. “When I say it, fuck my mouth.”

Poe closed his eyes, nodding.

Finn took him in, mouth hot and slick, and Poe was so aroused he feared he’d come instantly. Nails dragged over the metal door as his hand curled into a fist, and he thanked Finn’s foresight with the shirt, the cloth stifling a moan that roared up his throat. Finn took him in deep, lips grazing his balls, and Poe’s stomach fluttered, knees wobbling, not only at the knowledge of how much of him Finn could take, but the feeling of every inch of his cock in constant contact Finn and his heat, his touch.

Finn pulled away. “Okay, now.” Then he took Poe back in, paused with his cock in his mouth, suspended animation.

Poe swallowed, then unclenched his ass, shoved his hips forward, and slid himself in and out of Finn’s mouth. He was slow, overwhelmed and worried he was too aroused to keep himself from coming early, but Finn slapped his thighs again, then backhanded his stomach, a burning sting, and Poe fucked him faster, the shirt catching a harsh groan in its threadwork.

Finn gripped his thighs, not reducing his speed or strength despite his fingers digging in, a grip that might have been bruising were there not thick layers of clothes separating them. Then Poe envisioned the both of them naked, Finn slapping his bare ass, nails digging into his thighs, and he felt his seed build up—and he was coming so hard he swore, the syllables impossible to form while gagged.

Finn swallowed him, come and all, which Poe was thankful for, as the last thing he wanted was come in his flight suit or to spend any more precious time away from prepping for the mission by washing up and changing clothes. Finn licked his cock clean.

Finn fixed his clothes, settling his cock back into his boxers and buttoning the flight suit closed as he rose up.

He took the shirt of out Poe’s mouth, and unfurled it from the bunched up mess, finding the collar and slipping his head through it. He stopped, wearing the shirt like a scarf. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he said, somber. “When some Resistance pilot shot down all those TIE-fighters and a couple troopers on the ground, I was hoping it wasn’t just a saying when people called you the best pilot in the Resistance. I didn’t realize how much I wanted that until I saw you on the tarmac.”

“Likewise. When I heard BB-8 survived.” Poe smiled bitterly, wishing his mind weren’t so fogged up that he could properly return the sentiment. He gestured at him. “Do you want—I, uh. I want to, uh, thank you, too?”

Finn licked his lips. “I kind of—I kind of like it when I don’t—”

“You do?” said Poe, a twang of curiosity lifting his voice. He closed his eyes, remembering the times he came close to sobbing, virulent with fury, resentful beyond reason when he hadn’t come after skirting the precipice, relaxing only after the height of lust died down and he drank something strong. Despite the foreignness of the denial arousing Finn, Poe couldn’t help but be intrigued.

Then the knob jangled, the door shaking. Outside, a man yelled, “Who the _kriff_ locked me out of my own damn office?”

Poe smoothed down his hair, nodding decisively. “We’ll pick this up after we bust those goons? Don’t know if you heard of them. Called the First Order or something like that.”

Finn smiled, and the tentativeness in juxtaposition to the utter confidence in which he grabbed Poe’s throat filled Poe with need. “Sure.” 

* * *

Yet fate was cruel, and Poe Dameron had cheated death a few times too many.

He’d never forget the rejection twisting in his gut at the sight of Finn laid out in the transport carrier’s cargo bed, his ears buzzing as the paramedic shouted, yet it sounded so quiet, “ _We got a heartbeat!_ ”

Across the tarmac, he saw her, the friend Finn had asked for his help in saving. He tried not to feel angry at her—he wasn’t angry at her, and couldn’t be, as Finn ached for nothing less than her life. He was angry at fate for teasing him with this man rising from the hot sands of Jakku only to fall in Starkiller’s snow. He remembered the smug twinge in his chest as he grasped Finn’s arm before Finn set off for the Falcon, the nerves settling over him assuaged only by the knowledge that when they returned—no if in his thoughts—they’d celebrate together.

Now he remembered the logic underlining the dearth of partners in his life.

He willed the bacta to replicate tissue and fibers at a rate faster than medically possible, his heart thumping harder than he could recall ever in his life. Finn felt different than the others. He had known him for such a small amount of time, the exact hours countable on two hands, but the meager time spent with Finn had jumped monumental hurdles that Poe could barely fathom to have occurred.

Poe believed they lived in reverse: First meeting seconds before dying; Finn—conditioned to a life in the First Order—dove into him, not a single first date before fucking him; then Poe went and fell in love with him as he buoyed unconscious in a bacta tank. Logically, they now existed in the time before normal people met, which Poe presumed to imply that Finn was never going to awaken.

But _when_ Finn awakened, Poe would be there for him, even if a mission disavowed him from being physically present. Whatever began in that office, he’d be damned not to defend it, protect it with every fiber of his reckless being.


End file.
